


The Truth Is

by dirigibleplumbing



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Feels, Forbidden Zone - Freeform, Happy Ending, Humor, Lemony Snicket style narrator, Lies, Lying Spell, M/M, Magic, POV Natasha Romanov, POV Outsider, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Trope Subversion/Inversion, Tropes, Unreliable Narrator, how do you write a Russian character? with Tolstoy references right?, or is she?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-12-28 15:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21139226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirigibleplumbing/pseuds/dirigibleplumbing
Summary: Steve and Tony are put under a spell that prevents each of them from uttering any truthful statements to the other. With Steve hiding the truth about how Tony’s parents died, both of them hiding how they feel about each other, and regular old emotional repression, it takes a while for anyone to notice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the “Forbidden Zone” square on my Stony bingo. 
> 
> I have been working on this fic for a while, and technically had a completed draft of it many months ago, but needed to sit on it for a while. Thank you to those of you who commented on the excerpt I posted on my tumblr, your excitement encouraged me to publish! 
> 
> Every statement Steve and Tony say to each other in this story is, in one way or another, a lie. (They only have a few lines of dialogue directed at other characters. You can assume that those lines are truthful, or at least the speaker believes them to be.) 
> 
> Takes place a vague amount of time after Age of Ultron, where Tony has rejoined the team, then diverges further from there. 
> 
> Un-betaed. All mistakes my own.
> 
> Further notes on ratings and warnings in end notes.

The truth about the Avengers is—well. Natasha prefers to keep her opinions close to the chest. 

“Close to the chest” is a phrase which here means that she habitually obfuscates and misrepresents her thoughts, with a few exceptions for those she holds dear. 

She is currently revising the list of who she holds dear. 

* * *

The embarrassing thing is that it took three weeks before anyone noticed. 

Natasha thought of claiming that she’d known since the second day and was waiting for Steve and Tony to catch on themselves, but decided she couldn’t pull off a lie like that. 

The truth is that lies are everywhere, like snow in the Siberian tundra. Sometimes it’s the shape of the lies that tell us what we need to know, much like how the shape of footprints in fresh snow can tell us whether we’re being pursued by a musk deer, a Manchurian wapiti, an Amur tiger, or a brainwashed, biochemically enhanced sniper. Other times it’s the absence of certain lies that give us the most information—like a friend who chooses to say nothing at all instead of offering up a platitude like, “It’s going to be fine” when you embark on a high-risk project to destroy all traces of a clandestine fascist organization, or a team leader who, despite a great amount of pride in the matter, doesn’t bother denying that he hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in five days and should, therefore, be scrapped from an upcoming scheduled mission. 

Count Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy wrote: "All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."

It is the same with lies: there is often only one way to tell the truth, but there are many different ways in which one can tell a lie. 

* * *

The battle that begins this story was, at the time the Avengers completed it, considered a success. 

“Success” was here thought to have been achieved because it was believed that—even though the Asgardian sorceress who had been turning stoplights into unicorns and pigeons into barrels of flour all morning near Houston St. disappeared before she could be apprehended or interrogated—no civilians and no members of the team had been grievously injured or killed. 

"Civilian" here means a bystander who is not an active member of law enforcement or peacekeeping efforts, and therefore not involved in a conflict being handled by the Avengers. 

However, by the above definition, the mission was not, in truth, a success. In point of fact, two team members had been injured and encountered unidentified magic: Iron Man had three bruised ribs, a black eye, a mild concussion, and a cut on his forehead that would require at least super-gluing shut if not a couple of stitches; Captain America had been shot through the shoulder by an overzealous civilian gun owner and been gored quite seriously by a disoriented unicorn; and both men had been hit by an unidentified blast of magic.

In this case, “civilian” refers to a bystander who is not an active member of law enforcement or peacekeeping efforts, and therefore _ shouldn’t _ be involved in a conflict being handled by the Avengers, but who has inserted himself nonetheless, increasing the danger to himself and others. 

The magical blast was the color of plum blossoms, smelled strangely akin to carnival hot dogs, and was accompanied by a sound like a huge sheet of ice on a frozen lake cracking because you have taken a step too far and are about to plunge into icy water. 

This is what Iron Man said when Captain America asked the team if there were any casualties: “Nothing to report, Cap. Did that wannabe Rambo hit you or what?” 

This is how Captain America—a man who supposedly embodied Superman’s ethos of _ truth, justice, and the American way_—replied to him: “I’m fine.” 

* * *

People make the mistake of thinking that lying is special. Lying is not special. Everyone does it, in the same way that everyone relieves their bowels, embellishes on their resumes, hates getting stuck in DC rush hour traffic, and makes questionable romantic decisions at various times in their life. 

What is special is certain lies from certain people. Sometimes the right lie, at the right time, can mean the world. 

Other times, it leaves us wondering: which part, exactly, is the lie? What information does this lie give us about this person, their motivations, and their true intentions? 

When someone says to you, "I'm not going to kill you," do they mean in this moment, or ever? When someone says something impossible, like, "I'll always love you," do you accept their intent or suspect that they are lying to keep you complacent? When someone says, "I'm not going to shoot you," do they mean that they will torture you instead, perhaps by coercing you into listening to their relationship problems? If your lover tells you that you're beautiful, that the scars don't matter, that the wounds you have healed from are over, that no matter what was done to you or you have done yourself you are not a monster, that you should wear a bikini anyway, if he says all of that and more, do you believe him? What if you feel the same way about him—that he is more than his history, more than a weapon, more than violence, that his survival is the most beautiful thing about him, that the best revenge is to live a happy peaceful life, that there's no need to wear long-sleeved shirts all the time, that really a speedo is the best look on him—then, do you believe him? 

Or, imagine that the love of your life is a man you haven't been able to stop thinking about since you first met battling a trickster god, a man you admire, a man who you believe is too good for you, too honest, too old-fashioned to ever return your feelings. Imagine that he is under a spell forcing him to lie, and he says, "I like you." Or, imagine that the love of your life is a man you haven't been able to stop thinking about since you first met battling a trickster god, a man you admire, a man who you believe is too smart for you, too worldly, too dedicated to enacting a vision of a beautiful future to ever return your feelings. Imagine that he is under a spell forcing him to lie, and he says, "I hate you." What do you think he is trying to say?

What do you hope? 

The lie Natasha Romanov found herself most often contemplating—and was at times her favorite—was this one: “I would now. And I'm always honest.” 

* * *

Two days after the battle against the Asgardian sorceress, the Avengers held a team meeting. 

By this time, Steve’s super-soldier serum had rendered any trace of his injuries undetectable. Tony had patched himself up to the best of his ability. “Patched up” is a phrase which here means “covered what was left of his black eye with makeup.” Tony characteristically had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, and, in order to maintain symmetry, covered the dark circles under the uninjured eye as well as the bruising on the injured one. It was expensive makeup, and expertly applied, but, several members of his team—who were various combinations of trained spies, good friends, and observant people—got a close enough look at him to note the absence of the dark circles and correctly surmised that he was trying to obscure an injury. 

No one commented on this clear deception. 

Instead, the meeting followed the planned agenda. After reviewing the events of the battle—again, neither Steve nor Tony mentioned their injuries—the topic turned to the contents of the Hydra files Steve and Natasha had leaked some months prior during the destruction of the Project Insight helicarriers. 

“Any of the intel you’ve been digging through WikiLeaks-worthy, Rogers?” Tony asked. 

“No, nothing new,” Steve said. 

* * *

It is a generally acknowledged truth that certain things—like honesty, bouquets, and shared morals—are a good foundation for romantic relationships, while others—like lying, bickering, or one person shooting through the stomach of the other in order to assassinate an Iranian nuclear engineer behind her—are not. 

“Generally acknowledged” is a phrase which here means “believed to be true by people who have never been, and never will be, Avengers.” 

None of this is meant to imply that the Avengers didn’t spend time together, which would have meant few opportunities to observe the change in their teammates and a plausible excuse for failing to notice it. In fact, in addition to team meetings, there were weekly team movie nights, frequent impromptu hang-outs in common areas of the compound, sub-meetings regarding the team’s PR and news appearances, meetings with government liaisons, and regular training regimens in flight, hand-to-hand combat, agility, and marksmanship. 

The truth was that there was not a change to observe. 

* * *

One morning when Steve, Tony, Natasha, and Vision all ended up in the communal kitchen at the same time to make coffee and reheat boxes of takeout, Tony said to Steve, “I’m an impeccable judge of character.” 

Another day, when Natasha and Steve were drilling Tony and Wanda in martial arts techniques, Steve rolled his eyes at a remark of Tony’s and said, “Some of us have better things to do than ogle your ass, Stark.” 

After his monthly medical check-up, Steve asked where Dr. Suresh—his usual physician—had gone.

Tony—who knew exactly where Dr. Suresh had gone and why—said, “I don’t know, maybe she retired or something.” 

At the next team meeting, Tony was glancing over everyone’s online schedules, trying to find the best day for them to visit a children’s hospital, and saw that Steve was planning to attend the guest lecture on artificial intelligence Tony was giving at Carnegie Mellon the following month. “You checking up on me, Rogers?” 

Steve, who was attending out of a desire to get to know Tony better, said, “Just being a supportive teammate.” 

And so on. 

* * *

“Why’d you come back to the team?”

“Please, you need me.” 

“I wouldn’t say—” 

“The team needs me.”

“Did I ever tell you that you didn’t need to leave in the first place?”

“You didn’t need to. I figured it out.” 

* * *

Fifteen minutes before that week’s movie night, Steve called Tony from Citi Field. “Sharon had an extra ticket to the game tonight, it was a last minute thing,” he said. 

“No worries, Cap,” Tony said. 

“What about ‘Aliens?’ Should we reschedule?” 

Tony, who had been talking up the film for some weeks prior to his scheduled turn to pick the movie, did not correct Steve and tell him that they were starting with “Alien.” He didn’t say that he’d been looking forward to seeing Steve experience the film for the first time. He didn’t say that he was hesitant about showing Steve the sequel, since it opened with Sigourney Weaver’s character awakening from cryogenic freezing after several decades to find that everyone she knew was dead and gone.

Instead he said, “It’s not a big deal.” 

* * *

Tony, on his way out the door for an SI meeting in Manhattan, ran into Steve, on his way into the compound after a visit to Peggy Carter. Tony asked him how it had gone. 

“She’s doing great,” Steve said. 

“She mention me?” Tony asked, his car doors unlocking with a click as he approached. “She must have some adorable stories about babysitting me back in the day.” 

Steve, who had—much to Peggy's amusement and teasing—spoken almost exclusively of Tony, replied, “You didn’t come up."

* * *

For Wanda’s Purim party, Tony dressed as an astronaut, Steve as a cowboy. Wanda and Vision were both dressed in Hogwarts robes with Gryffindor colors, leading many on the team to speculate that they were Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter, respectively. 

“You match too!” Wanda accused when Tony asked her to teach him a correct levitation charm. 

“What?” Tony asked, preoccupied by a nearby platter of hamantaschen. 

“You look like Buzz Lightyear and Woody,” she explained, gesturing at Tony and Steve, her tone suggesting it was obvious. 

Tony waved the thought away. “I’ve had this in storage for nearly a decade. Pepper’s assistant found it and brought it out for the party.”

Steve—who was standing closer to Tony than was strictly necessary given the size of the lounge where the party was being held and the number of people attending it—shrugged. “Tony, I didn’t know what your costume was going to be.” 

Later than evening, Tony turned to Steve—who had barely left Tony’s side throughout the whole party, not that he would admit it or Tony would realize the implication—and said, “Where’s the illustrious Agent 13? I was looking forward to seeing her here.” 

Steve, who had not extended an invitation to Sharon, said, “She had a work thing. And Pepper?” 

“Ah, she’s just busy running my multi-billion-dollar company, nothing out of the ordinary.” 

* * *

A week after Purim, Tony and Rhodes stumbled into the kitchen at 1:00 in the afternoon, griping about the lights and bickering over who would make coffee. Wanda asked what the occasion had been. 

Rhodes stretched. “Nah, nothing special, just staying up to do our nails and talk about boys.” 

Natasha smirked and held out two mugs of coffee. “Anyone in particular got your eye?” 

“Rhodey has a crush on the new liaison from the Air Force,” Tony said. 

Rhodes scowled and flicked Tony on the arm. “Man, why do I still tell you stuff like that?” 

“Whatever, everyone who’s seen you polish your armor before Carol’s visits already knew.” 

Natasha gave Tony’s shoulder a playful shove. “That better not be a euphemism, Stark.” 

“How about you, Tony?” Steve asked. 

“You know me, Cap,” Tony said, taking a swig of his coffee. “There’s never just one.” 

* * *

Ten days after the Avengers’ encounter with the Asgardian sorceress, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes was dropped off at the edge of Avengers Compound’s security perimeter by a long-haul truck driver, who was never relieved of the misapprehension that his passenger had been an ordinary hitchhiker. This was considered, by team consensus, better than the truth. 

James found the nearest security camera, stood square in front of its line of sight, and waved at it. 

When he heard the approach of vehicles, he held his empty hands above his head. 

When he was brought to a holding cell at the compound, Natasha asked him, “What do you remember?” 

James looked her in the eye and lied, “Everything.” 

* * *

Expectations are dangerous—much like knives. Like knives, expectations can be used to wound quite effectively when wielded by someone who knows what they’re doing. An expert in knives could kill you with surgical precision, perform actual surgery on you, turn a ream of paper into a pop-up book about Baroque architecture, or simply graze your skin in a clean scratch. A master manipulator can lead you toward feelings of disappointment, surprise, self-loathing, or gratitude. 

There is an idiom in the English language that goes: “don’t bring a knife to a gunfight.” It means: “be prepared and bring the appropriate equipment and expectations to a given situation.” However, it is also worth mentioning that even during a knife fight, it’s important to bring not only a knife, but the right kind of knife. A butter knife or artistic reproduction of an antique hunting knife or a knife made of jell-o would be just as inadvisable in a knife fight as a knife in a gunfight. 

Like knives, expectations can be used to wound quite effectively even when used by someone who has never even seen a knife before. A novice with knives can still drive one into the bowels of an unwitting opponent, spilling their intestines and bringing on a slow and painful death. An emotionally stunted person who claims to have no expectations of anyone but himself can still be brutally hurt and disappointed when he learns a friend has neglected to pass on information of particular personal importance to him. 

Most people would expect that consistent honesty is important for a team. Would imagine that a team could not be a functioning one as long as it contains two members who lie to each other so often that it took three weeks and rather extraordinary circumstances before either of them noticed that they were under a spell _ requiring _them to do so. 

But sometimes—like a favorite handgun that was manufactured with just slight imperfections, such that its balance was unlike that of any other of its type and the weight threw off the aim of anyone else who tried to use it—being different than expected is exactly right. 

* * *

A week after being cleared by the compound’s medical team and given federal permission to stay on the grounds for the time being, James joined the team to eat pizza and watch “West Side Story.” 

An hour into the film, Sam excused himself to take a phone call. Vision went to make more popcorn. Wanda followed him, the two chatting about Sokovian street gangs. Rhodes was not in attendance; he was on a date with Captain Carol Danvers, the Avengers’ Air Force liaison. 

James walked up to where Natasha sat and said, “I’m sorry I shot you.” 

This was a lie, in the sense that it was not James, strictly speaking, who had shot her. Had James been himself, he wouldn’t have even been present to do so. It also suggested that James had only shot her once—while the truth was he had shot _ at _ her numerous times and the one time he had actually hit her, it had been to reach the target behind her. 

Furthermore, it is often said that apologies are for small things, mistakes and errors in judgment you have learned from and will never repeat, like using a teammate's throwing knife to slice a cantaloupe or replacing a friend's quiver with a plastic toy designed to market the film "Brave." People who believe such things will tell you that there are no apologies for things like shooting someone with whom you have previously been romantically involved, using a teammate's curling iron to perform an experiment on gamma radiation, or stalking you through the Siberian taiga. These people will tell you that apologies are only meaningful if you will truly never perform the offending action again—actions like doing unspeakable things while brainwashed, when one doesn't exactly choose to be brainwashed in the first place. 

Like so many things, this kind of belief is generally only espoused by people who have never been, and never will be, Avengers.

Steve and Tony, the only others left in the room, were bickering about the film, and didn’t notice James and Natasha’s conversation in the slightest. Tony, who secretly loved the earnestness and drama of musicals, claimed to hate it. Steve, who was secretly bored by the songs, underwhelmed by the set, and taking only the occasional interest when there was a particularly good dance routine, claimed that Tony was just being negative because it didn’t have any robots or explosions in it. 

Natasha smiled at James. “I’m over it.” 

This, also, was a lie. 

* * *

There are different kinds of lies. 

There are white lies, like, “I can’t see the scar at all, even when I look for it” or "That color looks great on you." There are lies to manipulate and control, like, “It’s for your own good,” or, “For the glory of the USSR!” There are lies we tell out of love, like, “It’s nothing to worry about.” There are truths omitted out of fear, twisted out of envy, inverted out of malice. There are lies we tell without words, lies made out of our bodies and clothes and the frightened expressions we wear on our faces even as we lift the gun out of our mark’s holster without him noticing us cut through the ropes tying us to a chair in an abandoned warehouse. 

Getting to know the different types of lies and the motivations of liars is like getting to better know someone with whom you are already deeply, childishly in love: every time you think there is nothing more to learn, a new surprise sweeps you off your feet. 

* * *

The third time Natasha had encountered James, she had been on a mission to the Forbidden Zone, later known to SHIELD as the Dead Zone. This radioactive area in Bashkortostan had been the site of Cold-War-era experiments in both nuclear physics and human genetics. Its use had been suspended after a fatal mistake in nuclear waste disposal destroyed the base. All history of the site had been publicly erased and disavowed. 

Natasha’s journey to the Forbidden Zone had been a quick and direct one from Moscow. “Quick and direct” is a phrase which here means that Natasha had stolen only one vehicle more than the official mission plan, and strangled only three unanticipated men with her thighs. 

James’, however, had been seriously waylaid in Kazakhstan. “Seriously waylaid” is a phrase which here means that he was suffering from three gunshot wounds, one in his thigh and two in his shoulder, had been shoplifting from markets to feed himself, had made over a week of his journey on foot, and had lost contact with his handlers two weeks prior. 

As a result, by the time of their encounter, his mental programming had begun to deteriorate and glitch. 

On seeing him, Natasha—careful not to lower her weapon or let her guard down—said, “James?” Her voice was a step louder than she’d intended.

James looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes, his eyes frightened and impossibly blue. Natasha wondered if those eyes were lying to her. “Is that me?” he asked. 

Although a question cannot, exactly, be a truth or a lie, it can certainly _ suggest _ one or the other. Natasha was not ready to fully accept that the implication of James' question was entirely true, but the tone in which he uttered the words was so convincingly lost and broken that she assessed him as being either truthful or one of the most impressive liars she had ever encountered. 

Of course, he could be both. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, hating the reassuring tone that crept like an uninvited guest into her voice. It wouldn’t do to reveal emotion. 

James replied, “I don’t know.” 

This struck her—both in the moment and in the years that followed—as the single most truthful statement she had heard in her life. 

In the business of espionage, there is no admitting of anything, least of all lack of knowledge. Those who know pretend that they don’t, and those who don’t carry on as if they do. It is likewise considered a weakness in other circles she’s encountered, such as among CEOs, academics, internet forums, and battle strategists. For James to even say that he lacked knowledge of something, let alone such a fundamental question, was astonishing. It was so audacious that hearing it felt as if she had stumbled upon him nude, unarmed, and asleep in foot-deep snow. Without her permission, her heart rate spiked. 

Natasha lowered her weapon. 

* * *

Three days after “West Side Story,” the truth of the spell finally came to light. 

Tony walked into the dining room with his jaw tense and shoulders set, a blank but determined expression on his face. Ignoring Natasha, Sam, and Vision, who were also seated at the table, Tony approached Steve and asked, “Did you know?” 


	2. Chapter 2

“What?” Steve surveyed the faces of his teammates, as if expecting one of them to know what Tony was referring to. 

“Did you know your old war buddy killed my mom?” 

“I didn't know it was him.” 

“Don't bullshit me, Rogers! Did you know?” 

Steve said, “No.” 

Tony’s eyes narrowed. 

Sam gave Steve’s shoulder a shove. “What the hell, man?” 

Steve looked confused for a moment. “I meant to say that.” He frowned. “I wanted to tell you.” 

Tony crowded into Steve’s space. “What the _ fuck _ is that supposed to mean?” 

“I’m not sorry,” Steve said, his eyes going wide. 

Rhodes, who had been listening from the kitchen, strode into the room and came to stand beside Tony. “You wanna rephrase that, Captain?” 

“Are you having some kind of moral panic about lying?” Tony asked. “You can fucking save it, I’m used to being lied to by now.” 

“I’m saying exactly what I mean to say,” Steve said, an edge of panic rising in his voice. 

“What—” 

“Wait,” Natasha said. “Steve, look at me. What’s going on?” 

Steve’s eyes landed on Natasha’s across the dining table. “I keep saying the opposite of what I’m trying to say.” 

“But what you just said, that’s what you meant to say?” Sam asked. 

Steve nodded. 

“How long has this been happening?” Natasha asked. 

“I don’t know.” Steve turned to Tony. “Tony, I was trying to say, I know I didn’t hurt you—_goddammit_.” 

Vision, who was practicing his sarcasm and teasing, admonished, “Language.” 

Tony crossed his arms. “So it’s just when you’re talking to me? I would’ve pegged you as the type to make my parents’ murder all about yourself.” He frowned. “I mean, I would’ve pegged you as the type to make it all about yourself.” 

Rhodes’ eyebrows approached his hairline. “You just said the same thing twice.” 

“I know,” Tony snapped, glaring at Rhodes. “I’m in shock, I’m traumatized, okay, I’m having a speech glitch.” 

“Tony,” Natasha said slowly, “Can you do something for me? Look at Steve and tell him what you had for breakfast.” 

“Friday? What’d I have for breakfast?” 

“Nitro cold brew coffee, a protein bar, and a blueberry danish,” Friday replied. 

Tony looked Steve in the eye and said, “I had pancakes and tea for breakfast. Um? I was trying to say that.” 

“Fascinating,” Vision said. He had been watching Star Trek: the Original Series and felt a kinship with Commander Spock. 

Natasha considered all this. “Steve, tell Tony what color shirt you’re wearing.” 

Steve, who was wearing a crimson henley, squared his shoulders, turned to Tony, and pronounced, “Blue.” 

“Alright, you two are going to Dr. Cho for some scans,” Rhodes said. 

“We’re done talking about this,” Tony said to Steve, then groaned. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Steve replied, then winced. 

“Wow, they actually _ can _ get worse at communicating with each other,” Rhodes stage-whispered to Natasha as they headed toward the medical wing. 

* * *

_ “I would now. And I'm always honest.” _

Natasha was pretty sure that what made this a lie was that—as evidenced by Steve and Tony’s ridiculous situation with the spell—Steve was not, in fact, always honest. 

Of course, she couldn’t be completely sure that that is where the lie lay. But, along with revising the list of who she holds dear, Natasha had decided some time ago that, as far as her teammates were concerned, she would take everything they said at face value unless objective facts contradicted it. 

The truth is that people aren’t really _ always honest _ or _ always dishonest_. Communication between two people is like a big afghan blanket that was hand-crocheted by your friend’s elderly mother: it can be a little lopsided, with one side more complete or open or duplicitous than the other; it can have uneven spots of broken trust, skipped stitches of missed opportunities, loose tails of yarn of things unsaid, and maybe the flowers don’t look all the same, because people change, and relationships change; but it can also have sections where the design and pattern are in perfect harmony, like a pair of lovesick idiots finishing each other’s sentences; it can have a whole row that had to be taken out and redone, like conversations that start out wrong and need to be paused and started over from the beginning; and it can, overall, be just the right thing to wrap around your shoulders on a chilly spring evening. 

* * *

Two nights after the team had watched “West Side Story”—the night before the team finally observed the truth about the spell affecting Steve and Tony—James and Natasha went to the roof of the main compound building to drink vodka martinis and watch the sunset. 

“Want to try again?” Natasha asked. 

“What, us?” 

Natasha nodded. 

James turned back toward the horizon. “Dunno if it’s a good idea.” The low sun cast glaring beams of light that wreathed his long dark hair in a halo of light, like a painted icon. Natasha thought the image both ironic and apt. 

“Because of you and me? Or because of what they made you do?” 

He shrugged. Natasha had always thought him beautiful. Jagged, with a hint of violence, like a spider web pattern left by a bullet in glass—and all the more compelling for it, rather than despite it. He tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “Does it matter?” 

“It matters to me,” Natasha replied. “And you didn’t answer my question.” 

James leaned his sun-warmed shoulder against hers. “Yeah, I want to.” 

Natasha favored him with a rare smile. “Then let’s try again.” 

James smiled back, but it was a sad one, and he shook his head. “I can’t trust my own mind.” 

“Who can?” 

“So what do we do?” 

“Trust each other anyway. Tell each other the truth about what’s going on, so we can take care of ourselves as well as each other.” 

James took her hand in his. Tangerine-colored sunlight reflected off his metal arm. “Okay.” 

* * *

“No one should let you two run a superhero team,” Rhodes said, laughter in his voice. 

Tony scowled up at him from his hospital bed. “It’s just a stupid spell.” 

Rhodes shook his head. “A spell that specifically forces you two to only tell each other lies.” 

“Yeah, and it took _ 3 weeks _ for your dumb asses to notice anything,” Sam pointed out. 

“I hate magic,” Tony grumbled. “I don’t see why this Dr. Strange guy can’t come fix us right now.” 

“_ I _don’t see why we have to say in medical,” Steve said. 

“That is exactly wrong!” Tony said, shaking his head. Then he rolled his eyes and turned to Rhodes. “I mean, I agree with what Captain Tightpants just said.” 

“What I don’t get,” Sam said, “is why you two—a tech genius and a strategic genius—are still trying to talk to each other.” 

“Tech genius _ and _ math genius, engineering genius, physics—” Tony began listing. 

“Can’t Friday monitor us just well from our quarters as the doctors can in here?” Steve asked the room, cutting Tony off. 

“Nah, there’s better equipment in here,” Sam said. 

“The medical team wants you two in proximity to each other while the spell is active,” Rhodes said. 

“It’s a unique opportunity to observe the effects of long-term magical spells.”

“And Dr. Strange is in another dimension until Thursday.” 

Rhodes rolled his eyes. “Neither of you were listening?” 

Steve looked sheepish while Tony muttered something about _ a few other things going on _. 

* * *

James and Natasha’s departure from the Forbidden Zone had led them into the frozen forests along the Ob River in Siberia. The trunks of the pine trees were dusted with snow like Christmas tea cakes rolled in confectioners sugar. The branches were caked with frozen snow and dangled icicles like the faceted festoons of a chandelier. It was beautiful. 

“Beautiful” is a term which here means perilously cold, lacking in resources to support human life, inhabited by wildlife with very large teeth, and infiltrated by increasing numbers of enemy agents.

Their time there involved foraging for food, huddling for warmth, narrowly avoiding a polar bear who had wandered far south of its usual habitat, and a gaping chasm of truth where Natasha had only ever encountered lies. It later came to include capture, torture, brainwashing, a close-quarters knife fight, a dozen gallons of spilled blood, and Natasha evading pursuers to find James nude, unarmed, and asleep in foot-deep snow. 

It ended with James—mental programming intact once more—pursuing Natasha through the forest for two days straight before she was able to rendezvous with her contact. She considered herself fortunate that the bullet James had fired at her in the moments before her escape had left her with only a graze. 

* * *

When Sam and Rhodes started to head out, Tony began immediately to complain. 

“Wait, what are we supposed to do without you here to translate?” 

“You’re grown-ups,” Rhodes said. “And you’ve already managed 3 weeks of this.” 

“Yeah,” Sam said, grinning from the doorway. “You figure it out.” 

Tony watched them leave, then let his head fall back onto his pillow with a groan. “I love this.” 

“Me too.” 

* * *

When James said he remembered everything and Natasha said she had moved on from James shooting her, they each knew the other was lying. 

Even someone who hasn’t been repeatedly mind wiped and mentally reprogrammed can’t remember _ everything_. Still, it was reassuring to hear it. To know that he was confident he remembered enough to pass off that he remembered the same kinds of things everyone else did. 

Natasha would probably not ever entirely recover from James not recognizing her, nor the times James had shot at her. But she had completely forgiven him—to the extent he was even responsible, which is to say not responsible at all—so she meant to convey to him how much she _ wanted _ to be over it. 

James—she was reasonably sure—understood what she meant. 

* * *

“Have you noticed that when we ask questions we’re able to tell the truth?” Steve asked not long after Sam and Rhodes had departed. 

“Bad point.” 

“I’ll try to disregard that if we need to communicate while we’re still under the spell. Can I ask you a yes or no question?” 

“Yes, please do.” Tony turned on a tablet and rested it against his bent legs. “This is definitely the perfect time to have a heart-to-heart.” 

* * *

On the second day of their stay in medical, Steve asked, “Do you know how sorry I am?”

Tony shrugged. “You’ll never get a chance to tell me.” 

* * *

“How long did you know for sure?” Tony asked. 

Even without context, Steve knew Tony was talking about his parents’ murder. “Not too long.” 

“That’s an objective statement, the antithesis of which can have only one meaning. Okay, right after SHIELD fell?” Steve nodded. “Before Ultron?” Steve nodded again. Tony took a moment to think. “Was it after this spell was cast on us?” Steve shook his head. “Right after?” 

Steve shook his head again. 

“That’s a very long time, Steve. You had countless opportunities to tell me. I’m very easy to talk to.” 

Steve ducked his head. Neither Tony nor the surveillance cameras could see whether his eyes were wet. “I don’t appreciate that at all, Tony.” 

* * *

“Did you have any other injuries the day we got hit by the spell?” 

Tony sighed. “No.” 

“Tony.” Steve’s tone of voice, at least, didn’t lie. 

“Did _ you _?” 

“No,” Steve said after a moment. 

“That says good things about our team communication,” Tony observed quietly. 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “It does.” 

* * *

“I’m not so sure it’s a good idea,” James said on their way out the door of Natasha’s bedroom.

“Eating Vision’s cooking seldom is,” Natasha agreed. 

“No,” James huffed. “I mean you’n me.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Not so sure it’s right for a guy to be with a girl he’s shot at a fair few times.” 

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Call me a ‘girl’ again and _ you’ll _ find out what it’s like to be shot at a fair few times.” 

“C’mon, Nat. I hurt you.” 

“You did,” Natasha said, “and now that’s over.” 

James scoffed. 

“Well, you won’t do it again, will you?” 

“Of course not!” 

Natasha shrugged one shoulder. “Then there’s no problem.” She flashed him a brief smile, then headed down the hallway. “You coming?” she called over her shoulder. 

James shook his head and followed after her. 

* * *

Thirty-six hours before Dr. Strange was scheduled to return to his home dimension, Steve turned to Tony and said, “Wait, so, do you know where Dr. Suresh went?” 

Tony didn’t glance up from the tablet he was reading. “Hmm?” 

“Dr. Suresh. I asked you about her before we got hit with the spell.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“So do you know why she’s not working here anymore?” 

“Nope.” Tony scowled. “Why are you asking me this?” 

“Why do you think?” 

Tony sighed. “Steve. If this were a truth spell, where we had to tell each other the truth, or exactly what we were thinking, instead of lying—would you be asking me questions?” 

Steve shifted, making the plastic bed frame creak. “Yes.” 

Tony nodded. “That’s not what I thought you’d say. So why are you asking me questions now?” 

“You haven’t been asking me any,” Steve pointed out. 

“I clearly want to answer this one.” 

“Why not?” 

“Steve.” 

“It’s exactly like a truth spell,” Steve said. “There’s only one interpretation of everything we say. There’s less wiggle room. You have to tell me everything related to it.” 

“Are you hearing the nonsense coming out of your mouth? Yeah, this situation really is a great way to get emotional clarity,” Tony snapped. 

“How come for you this spell just sounds like you’re being your regular, sarcastic self?” 

“How come it took you three weeks to notice everything you said to me was a baldfaced lie?” 

“Did Dr. Suresh retire?” 

“I didn’t give any money to the GoFundMe for her wife’s cancer treatment.” Tony turned his tablet off and closed his eyes. “We don’t pay our staff very well, but healthcare is reasonably priced. It was a small donation. I put it under my name. She’s probably as far away from her wife as possible. They didn’t make their fundraising goal.” 

Steve looked at Tony for some moments. Then he asked, “Why didn’t you want to tell me?” 

“We already get along so well,” Tony replied, not opening his eyes. “You find it so easy to like me and think well of me. I just figured it would change your opinion of me. Or you'd think I was just being humble.” 

Steve took a moment to parse what it meant that these separate statements were, in Tony’s view, all lies. “It would have changed my opinion of you, Tony. And I like you.” His eyes went wide. 

“Right. Wow.” Tony laughed hollowly. “This is why it’s a great idea to try to talk about these things while we’re under a spell.” 

“I meant to say that,” Steve said desperately. 

“Uh, yeah, I don’t know exactly what kind of spell we’re under, Cap,” Tony said. 

“No, Tony, I.” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hate you.” 

Tony frowned. “So—” 

“So I hate you, it’s not a big deal.” 

“It’s _ not _ a big deal, Steve—god, this is perfectly clear, I am completely sure of what we’re trying to say right now—” 

Steve rubbed his face with the heel of his wrist. “Yeah, I’m confident you know just what I mean.” 

“Okay, let’s approach this illogically.” Tony winced at his words. “And anything we say or imply right now, we will bring up repeatedly and tease the other about mercilessly forever.” 

“Yes, we will,” Steve agreed. 

“So. When you say you like me, you don’t mean that you don’t like me?” 

“Can you phrase that more simplistically?” 

“No, of course not. Hmm. When the spell makes you say you like me, are you trying to say that you don’t like me?” 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m trying to say.” 

“Okay, that’s not what I thought at first. I’m happy to admit that.” Tony made a face. “I don’t think this spell is interfering with my ability to censor myself.” 

“I don’t think so either.” 

“So, you hate me?” 

“That’s right,” Steve said. 

“And by that you mean—you love me?” 

“No.” Steve’s voice grew quiet. 

Tony swallowed. “And by that you mean you’re _ in _ love with me?” 

“No.” 

“Hey, so. I hate you too.” 

Steve blanched briefly at the words. Then, as the implication unfolded in his mind, a smile broke out over his face. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Tony picked at the hem of his sheets. “I’ve hated you for a long time.” 

When Tony looked up again, Steve was crouching next to Tony’s bed. “What about—everything with Bucky?” 

Tony gave a small half-shrug. “I’m over it. I never will be. I won’t need time to process it and think about it. I don’t think we can figure it out.” 

“Can I—can I hold your hand?” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “What is this, a Beatles song? No, please don’t.” 

Steve smiled and took Tony’s hand. “Hey, you know how in fairy tales, true love’s kiss will break a witch’s spell?” 

“Not at all.” 

“Want to try?” 

“Yes,” Tony said quickly. “I mean, I don’t want to kiss you.” 

Steve cocked his head. “Wanna run that by me again?” 

“I want to try. I really don’t want to kiss you,” Tony said. “I can think of other ways to put it.” 

“Can you tell me why you don’t want to try?” 

Tony looked down at their clasped hands. “I’m sure it’s going to work.” 

“It matters whether it works or not?” 

“No. Not to me.” Tony looked back up at Steve’s face. “It's not silly. What if we find out true love’s kiss _ would _ break the spell, but ours doesn’t?” 

“I care entirely about the spell being broken right now,” Steve said. “I wasn’t just making up an excuse to kiss you.” 

“Oh.” Tony squeezed Steve’s hand. Steve squeezed back. “Then. In that case. Don’t kiss me.” 

“Yeah?” 

“No. Please don’t. Definitely not any time soon.” 

Steve bent closer, his nose nuzzling against Tony’s. “I won’t.” 

Steve pressed his lips against Tony’s. Their mouths parted against each other. Tony reached out and stuck his fingers in Steve’s hair, tugging him closer. 

* * *

Thirty-six hours before Dr. Strange was scheduled to return to his home dimension, War Machine, Falcon, and Black Widow successfully tracked down the Asgardian sorceress they had fought 3 weeks previous. The Vision and Scarlet Witch stayed at the compound to monitor James.

The sorceress was—in what Natasha considered an amusing coincidence—hiding in the Forbidden Zone. When questioned, the sorceress admitted that she had cast the spell in order to try to disrupt the team. Under the impression that compliance would be rewarded with leniency, the sorceress lifted the spell. 

It happened that she did so at the exact same time that Steve and Tony shared their first kiss. 

As any self-respecting math genius will tell you, however, correlation is not causation. 

Generally, “correlation is not causation” is a mantra repeated by students and teachers of introductory statistics courses, and refers to the fact that, while rates of drowning go up at similar rates and similar times as ice cream sales—that is to say, are correlated—ice cream sales do not, in truth, _ cause _ death by drowning. 

Likewise, Tony—who, while completing PHDs in mathematics, engineering, and physics, incidentally also completed the requisite coursework for a masters in statistics—insisted that the timing of the sorceress lifting the spell and that of his kiss with Steve were pure coincidence, and that no conclusions could be drawn from this correlation. 

However, the truth is that Tony has—from time to time—been known to tell lies. 

* * *

The truth is that lies are everywhere, covering up the truth like snow covers the frozen ground of the Siberian tundra. Sometimes the lies are barefaced and glaring, like the visibility of fresh arterial blood against newly fallen snow in the noonday sun. Other times the lies are lost among the truth, like when the northern nights are so long and dark that a figure clad in a black leather tactical suit can disappear entirely among the brush. A person experienced in such things can come to discern the shape of the land from the shape of snowdrifts, but they can also be fooled, believing that a flat stretch of snow is innocuous when really it covers a series of secret tunnels and underground bunkers, or perhaps thinking that a small hill is a snow-covered barn. 

Either way, there is much that can be gleaned from the shape and absence of snow, whether it’s the shadows cast on the blank canvas nature has provided or the impressions left by hooves and combat boots and paws and frostbitten bare feet. 

Even if the ice never melts, there’s solid earth beneath it. 

* * *

Some stories have clear morals. The moral of every Baba Yaga story recorded is “don’t piss off Baba Yaga.” The moral of “Pinocchio” is usually interpreted as “don’t lie.” The moral of “The Frog Princess” is “don’t be impatient.” 

The moral of this story is not that lies are bad or that lies are good. 

The truth is that this story doesn’t have a moral at all. 

Then again, lies are everywhere. There are probably a few in this story, too. 

**Author's Note:**

> Rating is for some brief descriptions of violence. Because it is so brief, I consider it even less graphic than canon-typical. YMMV. 
> 
> There is a lot of lying in this story! Also, due to all the lying and the compulsive nature of the spell, there are a couple parts where, after the lying spell is revealed, Steve or Tony will do exactly what the other has just told them not to do. Because they know the other is lying, they are doing what the other intended to ask them, but textually, they are doing the exact opposite of what the other has asked of them. Everything stays rated G between them (there's a kiss) and everything is consensual. If you are sensitive to those kinds of things, please take care of yourself. 
> 
> Find me [on Tumblr](http://dirigibleplumbing.tumblr.com/).
> 
> [Tumblr post for the fic](https://dirigibleplumbing.tumblr.com/post/188637838187/the-truth-is-chapter-1-dirigibleplumbing)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Truth Is](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21981142) by [Akaihyou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akaihyou/pseuds/Akaihyou)


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